Remembrance
by ChaosMorning
Summary: Sparrow is dead, the throne is empty and the land is in mourning. It was inevitable and yet the pain she feels is terrible. She raised him as her own and has watched him die, unable to do anything. Death has claimed all her loved ones, but she evaded it


_Remembrance  
_

Albion's cherished monarch is dead; the throne is empty and the entire continent is in mourning. The child she'd raised as her own, the boy she'd watched grow into a fine young man and a great hero had departed this world. She had promised herself she would not grow so attached to someone again. It hurt far too much the last time it had happened when her brother had died. And yet once again she felt the sting of a loved one's death. It was her own fault, she had told herself it over and over again, constantly reminding herself that loving anyone, getting too involved… would only end in heartache. Chastising herself now wouldn't help however; it was too late for that. It was impossible not to care for him; after all she had raised him like he was her own son. Theresa thought of the Gypsy Camp at Bower Lake where she raised him; where he spent his childhood with his dog and friends, and trained to one day avenge his sister's murder. He had reminded her so much of her little brother when he was a child, constantly in high spirits, always laughing and smiling.

She walked slowly down the deserted streets of Bowerstone, passing the docks and factories and the empty homes and closed shops. It was as if all of the citizens of Albion's capital had disappeared. She of course knew where they were and she too was heading to the same location. She reminisced of how the boy had made his way to Bowerstone by fighting bandits and saving slaves and how she had guided him through the market district and told him of Lucien's plans and set him off to find the Pilgrim in Oakfield. She had almost felt a bit apprehensive when the day came for him to leave the safety of the Gypsy Camp, but she had promised to help him take Lucien down.

Theresa walked solemnly into the gardens of Bowerstone Castle; on normal days this place would be filled with aristocrats strolling about in their colourful, eccentric clothing and large powdered wigs while gardeners were pulling out weeds, trimming hedges and watering the flowers that made the courtyard so beautiful. But today there was no one; there were no nobles strutting about, no servants scurrying around, no one tossing coins in to the fountains and no one admiring the great statues of the royal family. She came to a halt and the tassels on her dress shook; Theresa paused and looked up, though her sight was gone she knew what stood before her: the sculpture of the late king. She thought the ten years of waiting while he had been imprisoned in the Spire by Lord Lucien, and his escape and return to the mainland with the Mage; she was impressed that his will was stronger than anything that Lucien or his abominations could throw at him and also relieved of his safety.

The woman smiled and continued towards the royal palace, some of the Bowerstone's poorer folk and those uninvited to the private funeral were gathered here. Bards sung melancholy dirges and great ballads of Sparrow's life and the adventures he had. It seemed that almost all of the city's people, from beggars to merchants and even nobility were gathered here holding a funeral of their own. Theresa's red and white outfit contrasted to the black that every person was wearing, yet despite that no one seemed to even see her as she slipped through the crowd and continued forward.

The flag's depicting Albion's national colors that were usually present at both sides of the castles doors were replaced with black banners. The royal guards barely paid Theresa any heed as she passed them; they too appeared to be lost in their own grieving. Entering the palace she thought of when Sparrow made his trip to Bloodstone and how he had gone to the great manor there to seek out the Thief and begin the final steps to Lucien's downfall. That boy was strong, he was cunning and skilled and he was kind and honest. He had made tough choices, lived through things that would have killed lesser men, when he became ruler of the land she wasn't at all surprised, and not simply because she had foreseen it.

It appeared that King Sparrow's funeral had ended by the time Theresa had made her way down to the crypt in the depths of the royal palace. It was a large open area with an enormous statue of a person with their hands clasped to their chest in a sort of prayer position at its end; before it lay two golden sarcophagus' belonging to Albion's former monarch and his wife. She was glad that everyone was lost in their memories and thoughts; she didn't want to be seen by anyone. She walked in silently and not a soul noticed her as she took a place in the shadows of the chamber and observed the funeral-goers.

Sir Walter Beck watched the sovereign's coffin with a sombre gaze; beside him one of the higher ranking military officers looked over to the tomb as well. Crown Prince Logan starred at his father's final resting place sullenly; he closed his eyes and sighed heavily.

He is still young, Theresa thought. He is not even of age and yet he has lost both his parent's now. It was a miracle, so the people said, when the King had his first son Logan, he and his wife were aged beyond the years that most couples could have children; it was a wonder, and only the first of them to happen.

Not far from Logan the royal family's butler, Jasper, was talking with one of the few remaining members of the royal court and from what Theresa heard, they were sharing tales of their beloved ruler. A young brown haired boy was sobbing softly over Sparrow's coffin while a little blonde haired girl to his left was consoling him. Theresa knew the girl to be the boy's sweetheart Elise and the boy himself to be Sparrow's youngest son.

Before long all of the people had left the hero's tomb and Theresa stepped out from the shadows. She walked slowly towards the golden coffin. She placed a hand on its top and became lost in nostalgic memories. The pain of loss was great; in her youth she departed Albion and discovered her brother died while she was away. She had never gotten the chance to say she loved him before he died and she knew she would never get that chance, both with her little brother and to the boy she raised. They were gone from this world to a place she may never go. Death had claimed all of her loved ones but she had evaded it. The elderly woman smiled, remembering her fond times and removed her hand from the grave.

"Farewell, Little Sparrow," she said, exiting the crypt.

Theresa wandered the castles near empty halls; by the looks of it everyone was now in the courtyard. She continued through the palace until she arrived at the throne room, she was about to enter until she sensed another person: Crown Prince Logan. He stood in the center of the room, intensely watching Albion's throne, his eyes not leaving the seat. Theresa could sense the emotions of fear, anticipation and worry encircling him. The weight of an entire country thrown upon his shoulders so suddenly was a great burden to bear; only time would tell what would happen to this young man. One of the two children would prove to be the one that the threads of the future were weaving tales of. When he left a few moments later Theresa made her way to the throne and rested her hand on its side. Theresa thought of how she had watched the royal family from the Spire and looked on at Sparrow passing justice, writing laws and deciding the fate of his domain.

A noise broke Theresa out of her trance, the sound of a dog barking. The animal was circling around her, she patted the top of its head and it panted happily and sniffed her feet and then the throne. Theresa wondered if he too mourned the loss of the King. She remembered the golden furred dog that had accompanied Sparrow wherever he went, even being able to sense Sparrow's return from the Spire before she did. Someone was calling now, a young voice was yelling the dog's name and with a bark he trotted off towards the voice of his master.

Theresa returned to the throne and thinking that just yesterday he had sat there, she almost lamented over not having spoke to him once in the past decades. Not coming to see him or his new family. She knew the correct choice had been made by not coming though; when she last met Sparrow fifty years ago at the heart of the Spire and showed him the vision of the future; she had said that that was the last time they would ever see each other and she was right. She had told him she'd always be watching and whether to see how Sparrow was or to see the two prince's progress and training she was always watching and would remain watching.

Her grief had lasted long enough. The day was drawing to a close and she would need to leave Bowerstone and return to the Tattered Spire. She walked down the steps that led to Albion's seat of power and as she was halfway through the room she turned to face the throne once more.

"The race for the crown has begun," Theresa said, leaving the kingdom's capital behind her.

* * *

I wrote this in late August before Fable III was out, so I made the mistake of thinking the mausoleum was under the castle. I had used information from videos and images so I'd seen the inside of the tomb, seen who some of the characters were and knew a bit about the locations so please forgive me for the mistakes. I only changed a couple of things after starting to play Fable III but besides that left it alone because I liked how it was. Thank you for reading.


End file.
